Distilled Divinity
by Shadowwreath
Summary: A multi-coloured liquid swirls, suspended against gold laden marble. How does one counter the Black Ka'kari? With a letter from an ancient Ursuul, and a puzzling necklace, Wilhelm challenges a troublesome conduit and re-writes an Age. The nameless Artificer, politics and sundering Talent all meet in a single bottle of distilled divinity. Current rating T, may change. R&R Please!
1. Chapter 1

Pacing swiftly from the reliquary to his study, Wilhelm Mica's head pounded.

'Why today? Why now?' he asked himself.

'Do they not understand the importance of my work?'

His study was massive, a small library in itself. Twenty five metres squared, with five metres of shelving filled with colourful tomes and scrolls. In the middle, a cluttered desk lay strewn with papers and manuscripts.

In his hand, Wilhelm held a single letter. 'Be ready. They come by the New Moon.'

"Five bloody days, useless sods. No bloody patience in the lot of them" he ranted, as he paced in front of his desk.

Abruptly, he stopped and turned, a querying look upon his visage. "Can it be done? In five days?" wondering aloud.

A hastily scrawled note, a whistle, and a messenger pigeon followed.

Wilhelm stood, picked up 'A Lexicon of nominative Thaumaturgy' and quickly padded out of the room.

This time, in slightly less of a hurry, he made his way towards an inconspicuous alcove; just a small inset of the wall, identical to dozens throughout the estate.

His hand reached down, into a furrow in the stone-work, and pushed. Gaps opened, runes checked and weaves confirmed, before Wilhelm stepped downward.

A three metre drop finished at a small slide, stopping at an intricate podium. Wilhelm slid. Marble with a flowing sculpture etched into the wide rock met his gaze. This weaving tapestry-like wall stood fifty metres wide and four metres high and was covered in glyphs and likenesses of men.

The only flaw in its flowing pattern was thirteen smaller alcoves, each with a shelf.

Wilhelm walked up to the centremost shelf and picked up the vessel resting upon it and gazed inwardly, reminiscing.

Fifty seven years. Fifty seven years since that fateful day.

Wilhelm, in his impassionate youth had gone exploring, just as youths are wont to do.

Thirty odd kilometres off his parents ancestral estate past a small forest, lay a dense network of caves. They were reputed to be cursed. Wilhelm had ached to prove such silly childish notions false and one night, had snuck out.

All the way through the foreboding forest jumping at shadows and hoots, sixteen year old Wilhelm finally reached the entrance to the caves.

Perhaps he expected two, maybe three small caverns with a few adjoining tunnels. He was wrong. Ten tunnels ran off into the darkness. He eventually had explored six of them, but was disappointed. They ran down into water. Wilhelm could not yet swim.

The seventh passage however, for that was what it appeared to be, had widened without being submerged in water. It instead, ended in the large sanctuary in which Wilhelm now stood, wrought with many carvings and inscriptions, excluding a significant cleanup, of course.

Now, the mysterious objects sitting upon aforementioned shelves, you ask? Large vials of a viscous liquid, clear, but under light tinted a multitude of colours.

The thirteen shelves each held twenty vials of one colour. The center shelf had clear but ever so slightly opaque content. Twelve others arrayed themselves from the lightest pink to the darkest blue.

This was his life's' work. Originally, there had only been one vias of four different liquids, layered on top of the other. Wilhelm had painstakingly translated but a small portion of the glyphs that covered the wall. They told him very little, detail-wise.

The name of the liquids translated to something along the lines of 'Minar'kes'. According to both experiments conducted and the translated glyphs, until each liquid reached a certain mass, the liquid 'stuck together' like grease or tar. They obviously had l undiscovered properties, yet this was the only physical one.

Of course Wilhelm did not start on this shadowy project immediately. It took two years after his midnight excursion to return to the caves, ironically in a similar attempt at escape.

Wilhelm's responsibilities as the heir of one of the preeminent Houses in a rather powerful realm kept him busy for months at a time, yet he always made his way back.

Curiously, his mind was fed by his position, as politics seem boring to many.

He was always asking 'Where does this come from?' or 'What is that horse doing!?'

Sadly typical of many in his position, Wilhelm's Lord Father, was almost always 'busy' or 'away' ands so he spent almost all of his time with, in whom's presence he thrived.

Reading a tenth of the manse' library before the was eleven, young Wilhelm ate up everything a tutor could show or teach. Emerald eyes sparkled with curiosity as the observed a delicate butterfly in the garden, or tracing patterns on tapestries adorning the hallways.

Although, close with his mother, who taught him quite a lot herself, Wilhelm's favourite pastimes were studying, reading, writing and chaturaṅga, an imported strategy game.

His favourite tutor was a thirty year-old scholar, who was, appropriately enough, the manse Librarian. Nicodemus, as he was called, was the inevitable father-figure to Wilhelm.

A soft-spoken yet relatively energetic scion of a slightly lower family, Nic was described by Wilhelm as 'interesting, for an elder.'

Will; as addressed by Nic but few others; had grown, but so had his curiosity. Conveniently for him, so had his studies. An oddity for a student in a noble family, Wilhelm was not a reluctant learner. Most people expect the heir of such a family to be spoilt, bored and petty. Wilhelm was one of only several exceptions.

Every nuance, every protocol of society, the natural world and various sciences intrigued him.

Scroll after manuscript after codex was devoured and digested.

At fourteen,Wilhelm asked Nic for 'Bloodlines and names of Honour', a twenty three volume compendium of politics and Houses.

A more dreary read one cannot imagine, but he memorised it, the whole thing.

The most remarkable thing was that Wilhelm could not seem to centre his inquisitive gaze onto any one subject. He wanted to know everything.

Now back then, use of the Talent was above its present day levels, by a significant margin.

It still was not exactly commonly seen, yet still relatively openly used.

Of course the boundless complexities of such a thing were tantalizing to young Wilhelm and thusly, he was taken before a maja at the age of fifteen to be Tested.

One would expect an overdone romantic legend to spout overpowered nonsense about its chosen subject, this is but a simple chronicle, so it shall remain un-embellished.

Wilhelm was found to possess the Talent and could have gone on to be a modestly successful magus, but for one anomaly. His conduit fluctuated.

Of course one knows that to be a Magus or Maja needs three things; a glore vyrden, an intact and sizable conduit and the ability to refill ones glore vyrden from light or other energy sources.

Wilhelm's dilemma, or possible weakness was unprecedented. His conduit was intact, but alternated how much magic it could channel, by the hour.

In the first few minutes of the Test, the maja presiding announced that Wilhelm indeed had the potential to be a magus, but some of the results seemed to be a bit off. Three minutes later, she frowned and a slight pulse brightened Wilhelm's then-visible aura and his eyes flashed, brightening the room.

His father was once again, not present, but his mother flinched, stifling a gasp. The maja, oddly enough, spasmed and was knocked unconscious. Wilhelm just stood there, frowning.

Due to ;as stated; his unprecedented nature, two more magae were bought in. Half an hour of arcane 'poking and prodding' ensued, concluding with another hour of deliberation between the three magae. One was confused, another professionally slighted but the third looked intrigued.

Finally Wilhelm and his mother were informed he could never be a conventional magus.

The magae came to the conclusion that his conduit upon initial observance was whole and well formed, but it changed by the second. Sometimes slowly and sometimes quickly, yet still a continual metaphysical change in shape.

They had said Wilhelm would never be able to use his Talent to its full potential, firstly because they could not measure it with an anomalous conduit and secondly, it would be ever changing.

If Wilhelm's power increased or decreased sharply as he was preparing a weave, or any such critical moment, both himself and bystanders could be hurt. They could not condone or justify any training, ever.

Wilhelm was initially, inconsolable. Understandably so, considering his wide-eyed and hopeful nature. All that knowledge, deemed 'unsafe'. Never able to enter any magical institution, half of the world was cut off from him.

They were still at the Sunlit Tower; the Chantry's foothold in the realm; when a young slip of a girl ran up to Wilhelm and his mother, holding a fine white-gold chain.

She furtively passed the neck-chain to Dorthe, Wilhelm's mother, and in a hastened breath whispered to them. "My mistress listened at the door during your Testing. She heard the consensus of your ailment, but had read of a single occurrence of the same, centuries ago.

She believes the Chantry is not willing to let this artifact fall into outsider's hands."

Indicating the artifact, the apprentice continued. "It was owned by one who once had the same problem with his conduit and my mistress wishes it to be of use, rather than languishing in some old vault. This scroll was stored with the chain. I must leave now. Good luck." Passing Wilhelm a small scroll and oddly kissing him on the cheek, she fled hurriedly and as abruptly as she appeared. Dazed by the days events, Wilhelm and his mother arrived back at their estate, Dorthe putting the two items aside for later. Dorthe retired for the evening, Wilhelm did not.

After lying in bed for a good three hours, Wilhelm snuck rather artfully; for of course he had had much practice, curious child that he was; into his mother's study. On the desk lay both the scroll and the glittering chain.

The scroll was of fine parchment, familiar to Wilhelm, but was decorated by twisting serpentine columns up the sides, with pictograms across the top and bottom.

It was of course unsealed, but he felt party to some great secret as of very few had ever seen the document, let alone touched it.

The text was not in the common tongue nor in High Cenarian, as used by ancient kings of old. Instead, it was almost carved into the parchment with harsh stylus-strokes as if the writer was sculpting a master piece. An obscure dialect of enchanters dialogue was used, one of the middling but not quite ancient languages. Wilhelm only knew the tongue because of his avid forays into many sections of the manse' libraries, both private and general. Even then, the language was nowhere near common knowledge even among scholars or magi. It was as if someone had written the message specifically, with Wilhelm in mind...

But he quickly dismissed such a thought. One would have to be a seer to know who he was...

he chuckled awkwardly to himself.

Wilhelm was by no measure fluent in the older script, but knew enough to translate roughly and began doing so, character by character.

As anxious as he was, Wilhelm did not hurry the process, thinking it better to be patient and correct than hasty and wrong. Finally the transcription was complete and he strung the letters together. The scroll read thusly:

"To whoever requires this artefact and uses it correctly, you are mine heir. Just as your conduit was declared 'unsafe' so was mine. You may be frustrated, or perhaps angry; know that I shared your anger.

It took me six long years to get over that anger. I was only able to study theory and watch on jealously, as my fellow apprentices ascended the hierarchy of the Order of the Dawn.

Ironically, just after the sixth agonising year, I was contacted by an Artificer of great renown. He said he was looking for a challenge, so rather than simply improving on others works, he wanted to create something never made before.

No one knew of our correspondence and no one except the grandmaster and his associate knew of the flaw in my conduit. I often wonder how this Artificer ever found out and yet I am infinitely thankful that he did. What you now hold is the result of his ambition and of my problem. It is in itself an unbreakable chain, yet much more besides. It is the peak of human manufacture of any kind; an artificial conduit.

Yes, impossible I know. It has all been said before. I do not claim to hold full knowledge of the method of its crafting, simply its unimaginable result.

Strictly speaking, the chain does not replace your own conduit, present or not. It encases it.

A potent multitude of weaves settle over a conduit and compress it into a usable shape.

This remarkable effect enhances the 'fluctuations' and controls them.

For anyone with such a symptom, the artefact controls not only when their conduit fluctuates, but how much. We can enlarge our own conduit! The only little flaw in this marvellous little device is it requires a sort of sacrifice.

Thankfully not human sacrifice or anything of the sort, merely..Your soul!

Just kidding. The chain must be bathed in a mixed pool of the blood of three family members.

Specifically, five drops of your fathers blood, ten from your mother and fifteen from a sibling of the opposing gender. If you are male, your sister; If female, your brother's blood.

If the rituals proposed results are not clear to you, let me explain; This is so that the necklace can be used by you and only you excepting identical and fraternal twins, oddly enough.

If you are an only child and a siblings blood remains inaccessible, there is a rather intricate blood ritual that can be undertaken to produce a fraternal twin, if your resources and morals allow for such a thing. I will leave research of such an act, if necessary, up to you.

Use of this chain still remains without its little 'blood bath' but only for up to thirty years after which it will lose its lustre and the enchantments will collapse.

The chain still has several other secrets, some of which even I was apparently unable to puzzle out. I was left with a vague clue by the mysterious Artificer himself, that I shall pass to you, my heir. I was also unable to make any sense of it but perhaps you can take up my legacy, meagre though it is.

'Take yourself beneath the ground, were drums and music seldom sound.

Beyond the Black Tower and shining Quay, that is where the Son will be.

For where they were, they never see, four remain, thirteen shall be.

The Wall enclosed, whole yet hidden, from tongue to toe this still verse flows.

Divine, distilled and shining light, a dancing lantern in the night.

One once separating into two, both darkness, and Blood and eternal fire.'

I leave this chain, this verse, my line and Name to you, my heir.

Narion Mingrath Ursuul

Archmagus of the Order of Dusk

First Holder of the Artifact

High Lord of the Isle of Alterris

Magus, Seer and Vürdmeister of the eleventh shu'ra

Scion of the House of Ursuul"

Please Read and Review, should I continue?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Wilhelm stared blankly at the transcription, numb with shock. An unusual feeling of anticipation and excitement lit up his face. Eyes sparkling an unearthly green hue, he looked at the delicate-seeming chain. It glinted innocently in the lantern-light, but its countenance masked a hidden power.

He picked up the chain and examined it thoughtfully, letting its links run through his fingers. Platinum and pale metal was woven into an intricate flowing pattern, folding back on itself into individual segments. At the crossing of each segment, a tiny diamond was mounted, flush with the surrounding array yet contrasting with a light twinkle.

Wilhelm gently unclasped the clasp and placed the chain about his neck were it settled, reaching his collarbone. He felt a strange sensation, similar to a soft trickle of water flowing through him, but sluggish, like mud. Gradually it quickened, as if a path had been cleared; Wilhelm finally felt alive. Soft motes of light began to appear on his fingertips and vein-like lines traced their way up his palm and down his forearms.

The weave upon the chain became manifest as red and blue cracks forcefully pushed their way into his eyes and chest. His breathing hitched, not in pain but complete and utter bliss as his Talent embraced him completely for the first time. He fell onto his bed, limbs and eyes unmoving as the magics of the artefact remade his essence.

Blinking owlishly, Wilhelm quickly awakened to full awareness. He felt odd. Getting out of bed and standing, he noted a mental haze had been lifted, as if all his life thus far, he had been suppressed. Quickly dressing, Wilhelm made his way to the library, intent on perusing the manse's meagre collection of arcane texts. Surprisingly, he had not yet acquainted himself with this part of his family's knowledge and was aching to do so.

Wilhelm's insatiable thirst for knowledge grew as it was exposed to a deeper well. His mother seemed to either ignore or completely forget that momentous evening. The odd piece of jewellery passed completely out of her mind.

Wilhelm noticed this and resolved to keep his new calling a secret. He largely succeeded too, the only person who noticed his young charges interest in the mystic arts was Nicolas, his gaze never leaving the library.

Nic was still young and as Wilhelm approached his sixteenth birthday, he decided to tell Wil his secret.

In one of the endless evenings of the summer months, Nicolas approached a dozy and reading Wil.

"Good evening." Nic greeted him placing himself beside his student on the large couch. "Weaves, bindings and the realms of Magic, quite a heavy read for so late in the day, perhaps?"

Wilhelm's eyes shot up warily at Nic's abrupt observation and entrance. He quickly hid the thick tome under a cushion. "What are you talking about?!" he snapped back, slight fear replacing his wariness; fear of discovery.

"You needn't worry Wil. I have already noticed you're seeking of discouraged knowledge; despite your best attempts at concealment; yet I approve." A thoughtful smile adorned Nicolas' face, as if reminiscing something amusing. "You do well to read such material, as did I."

Wilhelm looked up, eyebrows scrunched, "You studied magic? He asked, incredulous.

"I did not just study magic, Wilhelm. I am, or was, a magus. I was apprenticed to a master in the Golden Citadel, yet I was thrown out for some imagined slight against a noble. I had my Talent ripped from me." Nic's eyes showed painful longing in their moonlit depths. Wilhelm's own face held awe and a hint of sorrow for his mentor. "Did it hurt? I mean... I'm sorry, I'll just stop now." He rambled, blushing and looking at his feet.

Nic looked at him kindly "Its fine Wil. That was five years ago. This is now. I will help you learn and direct you to the best books. I still know magic myself; despite my... inability to practice it."

An eager grin lit up Wil's face and he enthusiastically replied. "Good."

Summer turned to autumn and Wilhelm's fervour in learning the Art continued; this time under Nicolas' guidance.

Nic's apprenticeship had lasted from age seven to his twenty-sixth year. He had trained under a Brother of Dawn and majored in body magicks which should have led to a course on Healing. Instead, Nicolas had delved into the forbidden reaches of Blood magic; Body magics centred on destruction or requiring immense sacrifice; such arts were rarely used for healing.

He was thrown out of the Academy for possessing a prohibited book, instead of that petty excuse he had told Wilhelm.

That book was only one of several he had been perusing, a number of written in languages so old even the Academy's central library held no information on them. His education had been relatively short-lived; only nineteen years; yet surprisingly prolific.

Before his expulsion, Nic had been as enthusiastic as Wilhelm himself. The massive archives had supplied his sharp mind with many tantalising treats that he would share with Wilhelm.

As expected, Wilhelm swallowed every nuance of the Art that could be taught by description or illustration. Again, Nic could not 'show' him anything because of the breaking of his conduit, but his mind remained intact, gloriously so.

And so, the Magus-that-was-not apprenticed the Boy-who-thought. It was an un-official apprenticeship, to be sure, but a fruitful one. That autumn was spent mostly in the library, or atheist the reading room.

Nicolas had managed to bring a small number of books on his short travels after the year of his expulsion and had picked up a few more during. Only three were illegal; banned by the treaties governing the five Academies of the Dawn. Two were on the darker applications of healing and the other was his most prized possession. It was an iron bound book sheathed in what appeared to be soft vellum with inked runes on the front branded and tattooed into the leather.

The grimoire was a book on multiple arts, not all of them dark but most. Its teachings ranged from the most potent if dangerous of the healing arts to the most blood-curdling agonies one could inflict upon a man. Characteristically, the shining vellum was actually human skin and the ink, blood. Inversely, the 'donor' of the blood and skin was the writer himself. Coincidentally, said writer was a very distant ancestor of both Nic and Wilhelm. Japeth Noran Bloodsinger; the greatest Blood magus since the Archon himself; was an artist. He had perfected many methods of flesh destruction, preservation and life energy manipulation; not just magical energy but life itself; the very essence of blood magic.

Nicolas did not know it, but he owned one of the most valuable books on the Half-Continent. Those three books remained out of Wilhelm's reach, but other did not. Nic's two-score rare but legal tomes were enough to keep his student busy for a relatively long time.

Sadly, Wil could not spend all of his time in Nicolas' presence. Other tutors demanded measures of his time. He rushed these lessons impatiently, but with only slight true detraction from his usual rate of learning.

The winter passed and Wilhelm's sixteenth birthday approached. The new dawn of spring bought a vibrant hope to the frost-ridden landscape surrounding the manse and warmth began to return.

Wilhelm's birthday feast was a relatively small affair; compared with his family's wealth and the fact that its heir apparent had come of age; and a gathering of family and closed family friends ensued.

Due to their known mentorship; even if the extent was not known; Nicolas was invited. Wilhelm's lord father arrived, for once, mainly because his only son had reached the age of majority.

Count Haemich Mica was not a viceful man, merely a busy one. He was Count Palatine of one of the more important and independent fiefs of the Imperium, thusly many matters, administrative and political, took up his time.

A note on geography: The Half-Continent of Lasaedro is a large landmass dominated by the Imperium. The Imperium itself is an empire in name but is more readily compared to a confederation of semi-independent city-states and principalities. Only three fifths of its supposed territory swear fealty directly to a suzerain under the Emperor. The core of the Half Continent, as it is oft referred, is native land that has been ignored by temporal rulers. The landmass itself is a large but curved piece of land, its concave eastern edge facing Midcyru, which lies to the slight northeast.

Count Mica greeted his son, as a son, this time embracing him and showing some affection out of a usually cold exterior. Paternal aspects did not hold themselves to the Count, but on this occasion he displayed them. His gift to his son was a finely crafted sword, your typical coming-of-age present, an heirloom too.

The surprising part of the proceedings was the absence of a gift from Nicolas. Instead Nic had whispered into his ear; Wilhelm nodded, smiled and gestured for everyone to eating and talking.

Wilhelm enjoyed the food and conversation and his flashing teeth frequently widened in an entertained grin. Conversations flowed from the content of his studies, excepting magic of course, his father's affairs and the intricacies of the Imperial Diet.

The meal and socialising wound down and Nicolas and Wilhelm adjourned to the library. Again.

Sitting down on the now familiar couch, Nic reached underneath a nearby table and pulled out a large iron-bound wooden chest. Handing Wilhelm a key, he gestured. "Your present, Wil."

Impatient and eager, Wil quickly opened the chest.


End file.
